


Tea Time

by SomeoneImSure



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Drama, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeoneImSure/pseuds/SomeoneImSure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunstreaker learns something new, Prowl gets his revenge, Jazz is bemused, and Starscream doesn’t have any idea what’s going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

He was growing increasingly frustrated.

It built in him over the vorns, slowly increasing into a steady throbbing fire at the back of his mind, creeping into his processor, and he finally snapped after the umpteenth time of being in the brig for something he had no part of.

"That's it!" he snarled, cutting off his brother before he could begin some twisted conversation that was destined to keep them locked in the brig for even more time. No matter how funny it was to begin with, Sideswipe's jokes got old real quick, especially when it was Sunstreaker who ended up sharing the blame when he never did anything (except for that one time). After staring at the wall, stewing in unfathomable rage, he had finally snapped.

"Let me speak with Prowl!" he snarled at the guards, internally wincing as he recognized Bluestreak's doorwings and saw them jump when he practically slammed into the bars. Ironhide was less physically responsive, frowning at the yellow soldier from where he sat, out of the mech’s visual range.

"Ya can do tha' once y'all's brig tahme is up," he said, engine growling.

He snarled his response, gritting out his words with barely held back rage. He hated having to resort to protocol, of all things, to get out, but he knew Ironhide well enough to know that nothing else was going to get him out of the brig anytime soon. “I have the right to speak with my accuser face-to-face.”

“Sunny, what are you doing?” his brother asked softly, uncertainty in his voice as he gazed over at Bluestreak. Sunstreaker ignored him, trying to lock optics with Ironhide.

“Ha, so ya finally learned something,” the Prime’s bodyguard said, the chair creaking under his weight as he stood up. He stood in front of the yellow soldier, looking him up and down. “What’s brough’ this on?”

Sunstreaker would have sneered if that question had come from anyone else, except for Prime and his own brother, and he instead stared back coolly. “That’s between me and him.”

That earned him a raised optic ridge, and the yellow soldier could tell that the older mech’s curiosity was aroused. “…fahne.”

Bluestreak looked flabbergasted, and Sideswipe stared in dumbstruck silence. The silence didn’t last long, especially when the energy bars rippled and suddenly disappeared.

“Wait, what? You’re actually going to let him go?” Bluestreak looked downright incredulous. “You do realize Prowl’s not going to change his mind, right? I mean, he might and probably could, but Prowl ever rarely changes his mind of these kind of things, y’know!” His vocalizer died mid protest as his sensors followed Ironhide as he began walking towards the door.

Sunstreaker stared at the spot the energon bars had vanished, before looking Ironhide in the optics. A part of him hadn’t seriously thought the mech would do it, but there the mech was walking towards the door and there was no energon bars in front of him to stop him from following.

“The mech has his rahghts, Blue,” Ironhide reminded him. “Now stay here and watch Sideswipe.”

The red hellion finally got his feet back under him at that comment. “Wait, wait! Don’t I get to speak with Prowl, too?”

Ironhide barked out a laugh. “And _what_ exactly would that get ya?” Sunstreaker knew without turning his head that the red mech was pouting, and he snorted at his brother’s antics, projecting his own sentiments over the bond.

_It’s your own slagging fault._

Sideswipe pouted all the harder over the bond and Sunstreaker rolled his optics, mentally shoving his brother away. The officer’s desks were a few floors above them, giving Sunstreaker plenty of time to think about his situation… and the more and more he didn’t like it. Why would Ironhide, of all mechs, agree to take him to Prowl’s office? Even someone who knew protocol and the Autobot’s rights, like Ironhide did, didn’t side with troublemakers. Even Ironhide _himself_ didn’t do that. It just didn’t make any sense. The only answer he could think of was that it was curiosity, pure and simple, but Ironhide had never stuck him as the curious type. That was Prime behavior, not Ironhide behavior.

When Prowl’s office came into view, Sunstreaker put those boggling thoughts behind him. Now was the time to make his case, not to wonder about whether Ironhide was damaged in his CPU – he’d leave that to Ratchet.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ironhide warned, before knocking loudly on the door, raising his voice into a drill Sargent bark. “Prowl, Sunstreaker wants to talk to ya!”

They waited for a long silent moment, or at least long according to one impatient bodyguard and one frontliner. A quiet chime answered them and the door whooshed open, vanishing into the ceiling and floors. Ironhide hooked an arm around the openning and gestured for Sunstreaker to enter. The door shut behind him, announcing the newcomer with another loud whoosh.

Prowl stood bent over his desk, analyzing the light blue holographic display of the latest battle. Sunstreaker recognized the map and winced, remembering how they had barely managed to get out with all their limbs intact. On the one side, it wasn’t a total loss, considering that the main Decepticon outpost they had been after was utterly destroyed, but, on the other, it hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. Sunstreaker waited patiently for Prowl to finish, knowing from experience that interrupting Prowl’s meditation only added to his problems further down the road. Prowl was a glitch when it came to payback, especially when his work was interrupted.

The tactician made him wait for a full breem before he set aside his work, turned off the display and turned to size the yellow soldier up. His dark blue optics stared hard into Sunstreaker’s face, and the yellow mech recognized that look. He had seen it on plenty of other mech’s faces, and it reminded him of just how much his battle computer took out of his systems. He was a tired mech who was too stubborn to quit working the moment his legs started wobbling from lack of energon. Sunstreaker made note of the lack of energon cube on the desk. Did this mech ever leave his office?

“Sunstreaker,” he said, slowly, “you wished to speak to me?”

Sunstreaker felt his processor jerk at that gentle reminder, his ire suddenly returned and he slammed his servos onto Prowl’s desk in an explosion of volatile anger. “Why do I keep getting blamed for all of Sideswipe’s stupid shenanigans?” he practically seethed, ever line in his shoulders edged and projecting just how dangerous he thought he was. “I didn’t partake in any of them. Sure, I may have laughed at them a little bit more loudly than all the other mechs on base, but that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with it!” He growled. “He comes up with _all_ those ideas by himself.”

Prowl’s dark blue optics flashed, but he otherwise did not respond to the mech fuming and ranting above him.

“I may have _helped_ a little in the beginning, but that was a _long_ time ago, before this slagging war got too far underway. I would _never_ jeopardize my paintjob with paintball guns, paint-filled or tar filled balloons, or mice or organic matter, and I would certainly not waste my personal time sneaking around mechs rooms and rigging up devices like in that movie _Parent Trap_.” He emphasized his words with pointed jabs at his own paintjob, which was scuffed and damaged from his time in the brig.

“I don’t appreciate being stuck in the brig for something I didn’t do, just because of a stereotype. I don’t like being thrown in there, just because of my association with a prankster. It’s not like you get thrown into the brig because Smokescreen is playing poker in the rec. room every second Saturday, or because Bluestreak accidentally discharged his weapon at the native lifeforms just because one little beakface startled him. _I_ didn’t do anything!”

Sunstreaker paused in his shouting to glare at the mech before him, into those strange staring _knowing_ blue optics, and he suddenly found no more words to speak. He huffed angrily and resisted the urge to pace around the room, like a youngling who doesn’t really want to listen to the lecture that was sure to come. This time, he was going to face that lecture like a mech and tell him what for. Rank be slagged.

“Sunstreaker,” Prowl began, in a strange soft tone of voice Sunstreaker had never heard before, “if you did not do it, why did you not say something earlier?”

Sunstreaker opened his mouth, shut it and opened it again. Such a thing had never occurred to the soldier simply because…

“I didn’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

The black and white simply stared at the soldier, their optics locked for more than a few long seconds, searching for some measure of understanding that words could not help anyone gain.

Prowl sighed. “Sit down.”

It was said like an order and so Sunstreaker obeyed it like one, resisting the urge to twiddle his thumbs while he shifted into the chair. Prowl’s own posture had a way of being subconsciously projected onto anyone else in the room, and Sunstreaker found himself sitting up ramrod straight without even realizing he was doing it. Especially when you were alone and didn’t have a rulebreaker for a brother there to put his feet on the desk and break all social formalities.

“Sunstreaker,” Prowl began, pausing, “you are aware of your rights as an Autobot soldier, are you not?”

“Yes,” he said, frowning at the question but deciding to go through the motions for now. He had already said so many things that should have gotten him in the brig right now. He’d rather _not_ add to that, thank you very much.

“And that those rights include the freedom of speech, the right to face an accuser, and the right to bring evidence forward in your defense?”

He shifted again. “Yes.”

The tactician promptly pulled out a datapad and pushed it towards the soldier, giving the yellow mech a few moments to absorb the file.

Sunstreaker stared at the file as if it had jumped up and done the hoola. When he finally found his voice, it was loud, high and incredulous. “You had this here? All this time!?” He suddenly looked up. “And you still put me in the brig!?”

“You said you knew protocol,” he said, calmly, his optics suddenly narrow, whch Sunstreaker noticed. “Am I to believe that you, in fact, did not?”

Suddenly realizing he was standing with his servos balled into fists, Sunstreaker slowly sat down.

“We record and file everything,” he said, since evidently Sunstreaker did not know protocol, “including evidence surrounding your deeds. We do not, however, have the right to review those files until the accused decides to defend themselves against the accuser. Files are then reviewed and evidence is brought forward to prove the truth.”

Sunstreaker tried to say something but thought better of it. Arguing with Prowl was like arguing with the Incinerator. Regardless of what you said, you were still slagged. Give up while you still had body parts and neural networks intact. He decided to simply accept whatever was going on here and take the way out as quick as he could. “So, I can leave?”

“You can leave…”

The yellow warrior was halfway to the door before Prowl could finish his statement.

“…or you could stay.”

Sunstreaker snorted at that, but paused at the door, confused. Prowl didn’t bring something up unless there was a reason for it – a lesson the entire Autobot army had learned at one point or another. He was the head tactician for a reason and when that reason became apparent, even Prime put on his obedience helm and fell in line with everyone else.

“Why?”

The black and white mech tilted his head in contemplation.

“I am sure Sideswipe has dragged you into his pranks on more than one occasion,” he said, pointing at the information packet Sunstreaker had left behind. “His escapades do not just affect the victims.”

He gave a slow nod, yellow optics narrowing. “What’s your point?”

“Would you like to get back at him?”

Those words made him forget his desire to leave this and the brig far behind him. When Prowl plotted revenge, it always turned out to be spectacular, and that fact made his interest perk much more than it would have otherwise.

“What makes you think I want to end up a victim to one of my brother’s pranks?” Because, let’s face it, Sideswipe didn’t discriminate when it came to his brother. They both knew Sunstreaker would never go too far when it came to retaliation, and Sideswipe was simply too used to Sunstreaker’s moaning to ever find his brother’s grating voice even remotely annoying. There was no win-win situation here.

Unless…

A ghost of a smile crossed the Praxian’s faceplates.

“You have not left yet.”

Sunstreaker’s yellow optics glanced towards the door, just to confirm his words. He sighed.

“No, I have not.”

He had a bad feeling that he was going to regret it, too.

 


	2. Part 2

"My time in the light is short."

His dramatic statement probably would have been more funny if Sunstreaker hadn't been dead serious. Then again, this was _Sideswipe_ , and Sunstreaker was of the opinion that that mech would laugh at anything as long as he wasn't the one being thrown under the bus. The stupid son of a glitch.

"Did Prowl reject your freedom request, Sunshine?" Sideswipe rumbled, lopsided grin widdening.

Sunstreaker ignored him, because frankly he wasn't in the mood to banter with his twin. An uncomfortable feeling had settled in his tanks the moment he had stepped out of the office, five hours later. He scowled himself as he shifted on the only available seat in the brig. He should have left before Prowl opened his big mouth and then he wouldn't be stuck here, worrying about Prowl's plan.

Prowl's plans were always flawless, so Sunstreaker had no reason to be worried about whether or not it would work. He was more concerned with his reputation that would surely be thrown into the ditch the minute he dressed for the occasion. It didn't excape Sunstreaker's notice that Prowl had been preparing for this for a long time. He knew that it would be spectacular, but he couldn't help but wonder if he was going to be the one screwed over along with everyone else.

Sideswipe misunderstood the boiling emotions coming off his brother and chuckled in amusement at them, satisfaction rolling off him in waves as he probbed the bond. Sunstreaker hadn't expected the mech to leave it at that, and that only made him feel even more uncomfortable. He tried not to even look at his brother as thoughts of The Plan kept running through his processor. Time couldn't move any faster, though Sideswipe's customary attempts to wiggle entertainment out of the guards was a pleasant distraction. Something always reminded him of The Plan.

No one could make Sunstreaker feel like this; no one but Prowl. It was terrifying and humbling all at once. The mostly non-combatant (Sunstreaker had heard rumors that the mech had been in combat but never saw the mech enter combat personally) made his tanks do flip-flops for all the wrong reasons, but he had to admit that he respected the mech for it. He could only imagine what the Decepticons felt when the Autobots took those few extra seconds to arrive on the battlefield and ruthlessly slaughter them – curtesy of Prowl's well-executed plans.

Without anything else to really think on and wonder about, Sunstreaker was left to pout and scowl at his slowly developing helmache. It was starting as a pain between his optics and he resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his olfactory sensor. He was extremely grateful when the klaxan alarms began to ring. Ironhide raced to drop the energon bars before disappearing, while Bluestreak had already vanished. His brother gave out a whoop as he followed the older mech, reflecting his own internal feeling.

Sunstreaker merely grunted and kept on moving, arriving just in time for the end of Optimus Prime's briefing. He knew he hadn't missed much; the Decepticons were attacking some far off energy plant, blah blah blah, time to go and bash some helms. It was a pleasant distraction from his problems.

* * *

Medbay was packed full.

Sunstreaker had long grown used to the sounds of injured mechs in the medbay and had developed a strange sort of patience for his time in recovery. He wasn't about to complain about his paint job when Ratchet was in the middle of an operation, among other things, even if he was currently lacking . If someone died, he could very well be court martialed for it. Ratchet had made that very clear on his first day on the Ark, and Prowl was sure to back him up and lecture everyone about just exactly what would happen if one Autobots was _anyway_ responsible for another's death. Being stripped of faction decals was just one of the many horrible things that would be done to him. It had been one of the scariest moments in Sunstreaker's entire career as an Autobot. Prowl didn't sugar coat it.

He never sugar coated anything. It was refreshing to receive a very blunt opinion about things all the time, but scary at others. Especially when someone received a dressing down from him. While Optimus' lectures tugged on the spark strings, Prowl's sent everyone running to hide under their berths.

Sunstreaker pretended that it didn't bother him. He always pretended that nothing bothered him, even though he wanted nothing more than to hide under the medbay's recharging chambers until this whole scheme of Prowl's had blown over. It left an uncomfortable feeling in his tanks.

A poke to the side pulled him out of his thoughts and he turned to discover Ratchet impatiently impalling his side with his stylus. Sunstreaker hadn't even snarled, he'd been so distracted.

"What is bothering you?" Ratchet growled in that tone of voice that said he could have cared less.

Sunstreaker opened his mouth. "Uhm."

"Prowl and Sunny had a chat," Sideswipe helpfully supplied, ribbing Sunstreaker in the side and earning a growl.

Ratchet tilted his head. "Really," he deadpanned. "You better make sure you aren't this distracted in battle, Sunstreaker."

"I wasn't," Sunstreaker snarled, annoyed that Ratchet would think so little of his professionalism.

"Whatever," the medic answered. "Get yourself buffed up and head over to get yourself repainted. Don't make me tell you again."

The yellow mech nodded, pulling a rag from subspace and getting to work on his paintjob, silently cursing himself for getting too distracted to work on it earlier. Sideswipe chuckled behind him and the yellow mech silently promised to sack him later.

* * *

The officer's meeting always began immediately once everyone in medbay was stable. Rarely did Prowl or Optimus Prime have any reason to call one before Ratchet was ready.

This didn't mean that Ratchet was the first to arrive. Prowl was always the first one there, either preping the holographic projector for whatever presentation he had prepared or looking over his notes for the previous battle. Red Alert was always last, making sure all the other officers arrived unmolested and unharmed before venturing the journey himself with Jazz metaphorically holding his servo the whole way while Inferno remained watch over the security cams. When Jazz took his customary position opposite Prowl, the meeting commenced.

Ratchet began. "Trailbreaker, Hound, and Brawn are the most seriously damaged this time. Everyone else suffered only minor injuries and a few broken joints." He handed out the details in datachip format. Prowl gratefully accepted the chip and put it in his datapad. The other did the same.

Ironhide snorted. "If Ah didn't know any better, Ah'd think the Decepticons were getting smarter."

Jazz barked a laugh. "Raisin' a few IQ points ain't gettin' smarter unless yer human." The remark earned him a reprimanding glare from Optimus Prime, and Jazz shrugged in apology.

"Nevertheless, it _is_ a problem," Prowl asserted. "If all our heavy hitters are down, our base will be open to attack, especially if we did not inflict similar casualties on the Decepticons."

"Well, naturally we'd never allow that," Ironhide drawled. "I saw a few of their heavy hitter's fall in the battle."

"Correct, but the Decepticons have more heavy hitters than a 'few'," Prowl explained.

The room went silent. Optimus Prime glanced between his senior officers and sighed. "You have a plan, I assume?"

"Yes," Prowl said. "I have the details outlined here."

He gestured to the holographic projector.

The meeting disolved into a lengthy explanation about Prowl's plan. It didn't take long before the Autobots realized that Prowl already had the scheme ready to commence since before he stepped into the room.

"And has Sunstreaker agreed to the plan?" Optimus Prime asked, feeling the light atmosphere the room had adopted and hearing the quiet guffaws of a few of his less self-contained officers.

"Affirmative," Prowl responded, monotone. "The rest of the Ark will be debrief on their part at 0100."

"Wait, you're dragging everyone into this?" Red Alert asked, helm flickering.

"Yes," Prowl said evenly. "Everyone."

The rest of the officers sounded their displeasure at this, but Optimus shushed them. Prowl had never failed him before and he was not going to question the mech's rather unique methods to get the job done.

"Very well. I'll be seeing you then. Meeting adjourned."


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream and Megatron engage in some slapstick comedy. Soundwave is misunderstood. And Inferno discovers two Red Alerts on base, well almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to post this over here. Whoops.

"The Autobots are up to something."

Starscream could feel it in the very fiber of his being; the Autobots were planning something. He wasn't exactly sure what had tipped him off; maybe it was the overall atmosphere of the Autobots in the last fight, maybe it was the way Soundwave seemed to brood more than usual, or perhaps it was the bemused expression which had crossed his trinemates face – not Thundercracker's, as he would normally expect, but _Skywarp's_ – when his trine mate recounted how there was something off about his Autobot counterpart, though the delinquent flier didn't know enough words to properly recounted the tale or even what exactly had tipped him off so. And if Skywarp was noticing something off about the Autobots (and of course Soundwave, though Soundwave always saw that there was something off about the Autobots, even when there obviously wasn't something off about them and they were just acting like normal pansy Autobots in Starscream's opinion), then something was off about the Autobots.

"The Autobots are _always_ up to something, Starscream," remarked Megatron with derision, too engrossed in whatever it was that he did to pay whatever mind he still paid to Starscream these days.

"No, I mean, the Autobots are up to something."

This clear restatement of things merely earned him an optic roll from the Decepticon leader. "Is that so?" the gun answered dryly.

Starscream huffed angrily, his wings flaring in an angry V-shape behind his back. "Are you too stupid and useless as a leader to even realize when your enemy is plotting something to destroy you?"

"I am not about to put everything on hold just because you have a feeling that the Autobots are doing what they normally do," answered Megatron. "Your ability to state the obvious is not impressive."

"Soundwave agrees."

This response did turn a helm or two. Usually Soundwave did not agree with these kind of statements. Neither mech knew how to respond to it, and so they both simply stared at the mech who had seemingly (finally) decided to engage in a threeway lovers quarrel with them.

"Correction: Soundwave agrees with Starscream."

Oh, never mind that last bit then.

Starscream had a dawning look of realization spreading across his face, which Megatron was already dreading. "You see, Megatron. Even your most valued supporter supports me in this. We should attack the Autobots now while we still have a chance at surprise."

"We will attack the Autobots," said Megatron, wrapping his deranged mind around the situation and whatever remained of his cunning working to take advantage of things, "when I say we attack the Autobots."

His two commanders waited expectantly for his response, and he realized he couldn't just leave it at that. Even he, now, was beginning to sense something must be done, or else he risked a mutiny.

"We will attack the Autobots tomorrow."

A triumphant grin spread across Starscream's wings even as his face twisted into a smug sneer. "If I was leader–"

Megatron's face was expressionless. He leaned forward in his chair and slapped Starscream smartly in the face.

* * *

When Skywarp meant something was off about Sideswipe, he meant this; Something was _seriously_ off about Sideswipe. The mech had started to see things in the faces of his fellow Autobots. They _knew_ things. It was so disturbing to see them looking at them with knowing looks and grins towards each other that he had found he had lost his appetite to prank – he was too concerned at _being_ the one pranked.

No, no. Today Sideswipe needed a serious day up in the Security Hub where he could watch everyone else with his trademark knowing grin and everyone else would not be watching him.

He should have, honestly, stayed in his nice warm berth with a medical grade that he had smuggled far too long ago to actually remember when. Ehh, perhaps, he'd leave out the medical grade and just go for a cup of gon. No, highgrade. It was days like these that could make a mech want to drink, even if it didn't solve his helmache problem.

The security hub door was practically smiling at him when he came up to it and knocked. It was best to always knock on the security hub door, or risk one of two things; an angry Inferno or a glitching Red Alert. Neither of these options were something he wanted today.

He was not expecting a combination of the two. When was the last time in Autobot history had anyone known of a glitching Inferno?

That the first thought that came to mind when Inferno's face greeted him with scrutiny and _then_ a smile. Usually it was the other way around. The mech was the most trusting individual on the Ark and he always greeted complete strangers (even Decepticons) with some kind of smile.

But that moment where Inferno wasn't smiling set him off like Red Alert after Steeljaw curled up on the security hub's giant computer consul in a vain attempt at getting his attention. The smile made him relax again, relieved that there was a moment of normalcy in this messed up world where everyone was plotting against him.

Except, no, that wasn't a smile.

Inferno's face flipped from curious to friendly to scrutinizing in the span of a few heartbeats. Now he was staring down Sideswipe like he had grown a second head. It was bizarre. It was weird.

It was freaking him the frag out.

"Are you okay, Sideswipe?" the giant firetruck asked in a tone of voice where Sideswipe knew that Inferno was already prepping his nozzle to spray.

"Yes," he said stiffly, which only earned him a harder stare from the mech. "Why do you ask?"

"Your helm," said Inferno but words failed him. His digits rose to his helm and wiggled in a manner that Sideswipe found very suspicious. The lambo twin did not want to know what that meant.

"I am here to start my shift," said Sideswipe.

"You can take the day off, Sides," Inferno said slowly, as if Sideswipe was a Wheeljack instead of his normal charming self. "You look beat."

It was Sideswipe's turn to scrutinize Inferno. "Are you doing something you're not supposed to?"

"Are you?"

The question, though out of context, was appropriate in any situation as long as one factored in a Sideswipe. The red twin opened his mouth to call Inferno out on it and then shrugged it off. "I'll take your advice. Thanks, Inferno."

"No problem!"

The big red mech watched Sideswipe leave with the same scrutiny as before. When he closed the door and walked over to the red and white Lamborghini in front of the security cameras, he made as if to reach for a shoulder and touch it, just to make sure this was really Red Alert and not the mech out in the hallway.

"Don't touch me."

A relieved grin spread across his face. "Good day to you too, Red."


	4. Part 4

The mysterious plans for Prowl’s latest scheme had been distributed throughout the base a while ago, leaving everyone either reeling from their own misfortunate spot in the plan or chuckling at another’s misfortune. The only one who did neither of these things was Sideswipe and everyone had unanimously agreed not to share anything with the mech, since everyone had caught wind that he was the cause of all this. Sunstreaker took great pleasure in watching Sideswipe squirm and didn’t fill him in no matter how much the red twin pleaded.

“I promise to smuggle in the best paint supplies for you!”

“I promise to give you the best high-grade!”

“I promise to wax your paintjob for you for the rest of our time on Earth!”

“I’ll stop calling you Sunny!”

That last one had almost tempted him to spill it, but he wasn’t about to give up a lifetime of staying out of the filthy brig to ease his brother’s suffering for the next week. No, Sunstreaker had made up his mind and his brother had only begun to realize this. After the second day, Sideswipe quit asking all together, and Sunstreaker couldn’t tell whether if it was because his brother had forgotten or because his brother was too preoccupied with trying to weasel an answer out of the rest of the Autobots to do it.

The golden twin tried to imagine Sideswipe wringing information out of Bluestreak. Getting information out of Bluestreak was like pulling shrapnel out of armor, and with Bluestreak extra motivated to keep that information a secret, Sideswipe was going to be swimming in a sea of babble that was anything but what he was actually hoping to find.

Sunstreaker oozed confidence as he stepped into Prowl’s office, and he put on a smirk as he sat down in the chair opposite of Prowl. He pulled out his sketchbook and datapad and shoved it towards his co-conspirator with an air of authority. Prowl raised an optic ridge at the mech before glancing over the datapad’s contents and picking up the sketchpad.

“This is…?” he asked.

“Some suggestions for some of the designs,” said Sunstreaker seriously, with an air of professional not often contributed to the bot. “And a list of materials I’m going to need to do them properly.”

Prowl slowly analyzed the data; Sunstreaker could practically see the wheels turning in the others head. After a long moment, the tac-head put down the datapad.

“Sunstreaker, have you heard of a human website called tumblr?”

The trepidation suddenly appeared again, making Sunstreaker squirm in his seat. He hoped Prowl wasn’t going to ask him to search through human porn for inspiration. “Yes?”

“Have you seen it?” continued Prowl, used to mechs squirming while in his office.

“No?”

“I would suggest you use it as… inspiration for some of these designs.”

The trepidation was there, taunting him. “Is this going to be like FourChan?”

Prowl tilted his head in thought and then snorted, his optics squinting briefly in disgust before his neutral expression returned. “No, though I would not put it past the humans _not_ to have something like that on any social website.” He paused. “I would also suggest DeviantArt.”

“I’ve already looked through it,” Sunstreaker said dismissively, before he remembered something and a slow smile swept across his features. “In fact, I have a design inspired from it right here.”

He pulled out something from his subspace and draped it over the desk. Prowl perked up, looking over the thing with a curious expression. Sunstreaker sat prim and smug.

“Who is this for?” asked Prowl, not taking his optics off it.

“Jazz,” said Sunstreaker.

A sound escaped Prowl, and Sunstreaker narrowed at Prowl like he had suddenly grown a second head. That coughing sound from Prowl’s engine couldn’t possibly be laughter. No way.

“I will call him in right now,” said Prowl, an amused purr escaping him before his engine died and silence reigned.

Sunstreaker stared at Prowl for so long as his processor sluggishly caught up to those words. Sunstreaker’s gaze snapped to the tac-head’s face.

“What?” He was incredulous. Was Prowl demonstrating a sense of humor?

“Of course,” said Prowl evenly. “Do you not want to see his face when I tell him?”

Sunstreaker gave a slow nod. He was looking at Prowl like he was a different person and he continued staring as Prowl made the call to Jazz.

“ _Prowl to Jazz,”_ said the Second.

“ _This is Jazz. Wazzup?”_

_“I need you to come to my office straight away. There has been a new development in the plan.”_

_“On my way! It was boring around here anyway. Haven’t seen Siders all day.”_

“ _I have something here that might entertain you then,”_ said Prowl. That amused glint in his optic isn’t actually there right?

His gaze dropped to the thing draped across the desk, and suddenly Sunstreaker was struggling not to laugh.

* * *

Prowl’s office was unusually crowded today, Jazz noted as he sat down. The Second-In-Command had his usual neutral expression plastered on his face, giving nothing away. This did nothing to improve Jazz’s mood.

“What is this?” said the saboteur, unusually serious as he stared down the opposition which innocently hung from Sunstreaker’s hand.

The golden warrior scowled at Jazz, having already told Jazz what exactly this was. But Jazz could tell Sunstreaker was hiding his real emotions. That twitchy lip edge was not normal.

“You will wear it,” said Prowl.

“Can’t someone else wear it?” Jazz asked, mentally flailing for words.

“You’re the only one who _can_ wear it,” said Sunstreaker with a snort. Jazz could practically see the words forming in the mech’s processor; It was tailor made for the saboteur, commissioned by Prowl and fashioned by Sunstreaker. Of course, he was the only one who could wear it. How dare Jazz think otherwise? The visored mech’s gaze fell on Prowl, who remained visibly impassive.

“Because of the majority vote in the officers meeting, Jazz,” said Prowl calmly, “you have no choice. Anyway, this was all in the plans I proposed and if you had been listening then you would already _know_ why it _has_ to be you.”

Jazz took that admonishment for what it was and winced at the _thing_ that the golden warrior held in his servo. “Did it have to be that _exactly_?” Was that a squeak in his voice? No, no, he was Jazz. He did things like this all the time, though usually of his own free will. Suddenly being forced to wear (why would Prowl think this was logical? Cybertronians didn’t wear clothes!) something he did not like did not sit well with him, especially wearing something like that.

“Yes,” said Prowl, “all the details need to be exactly as I planned or else it would be less likely to work.” Not like he hadn’t said it a million times before in the past. “You do want _all_ of our residential pranksters to stop, do you not?”

Jazz’s jaw dropped and closed, the underlying meaning behind those words clear. He had hoped that no one would catch on to that, and the only one who did had been Sideswipe, who was a notorious liar and not to be believed. And from the wicked look on Sunstreaker’s face, the saboteur knew that Sunstreaker understood the meaning of those words clearly.

“But… but…” The protest died in his vocoder. He wasn’t just protesting Sunstreaker and Prowl but the entire majority vote of the Autobot commanding officers. Prowl had him cornered, the fragger. Jazz scowled. “Fine.” He was already thinking of a plan to get back at the tac-head for this later, but those plans came to a halt when Prowl spoke.

“It would be very unfortunate if one our officers decided to take one of our tactical plans personally,” said Prowl, straightening up. “After all, they are examples to the rest of the Autobots. If our plans were constantly taken personally – or worse – taken as mere jokes by the commanding officers, then where would we be?”

A guilt trip. Nailed right to the core. Jazz didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused, so he just settled on bemusement. The expression did not leave his face as he was handed the dreaded thing Sunstreaker had delicately made and it refused to abandon him as he made the long slow walk to his quarters in order to stash the thing away until it was… time to wear it.

Oh, frag it all, he was going to take this personally, but he knew he had to wait before getting back at him or else the fragger would be proven right. He still had some dignity left, Primus damnit!


End file.
